


Don't Go Into The Woods

by Centenniel



Category: Jumanji (1995), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centenniel/pseuds/Centenniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The water is unforgivably cold.</p><p>And I really didn’t think it would end this way: trapped in Jackson’s Porsche, sinking towards the bottom of the river. </p><p>Before I lose consciousness, I try to figure out how I got into this situation. I want to blame Scott and Stiles but as always, it’s probably my own fault.  </p><p>If I hadn’t forgotten my book in my locker, I wouldn’t have had to go back for it. </p><p>If I hadn’t gone back for my book, I wouldn’t have been late for chemistry class. </p><p>If only I hadn’t been late to class for the hundredth time, Harris wouldn’t have given me detention. </p><p>If I hadn’t gotten detention, I would have never played that damn game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go Into The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cross between Teen Wolf and the 1995 movie, Jumanji - the one staring a tiny Kirsten Dunst and Robin Williams. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it but it's not necessary to understand this fic.
> 
> It's set in an alternate universe -but a universe much like the one in Teen Wolf. Some things are different, some things are kind of the same. Pretty much anyone who popped up in the series will also pop up here although maybe in different capacities. I'll try my best to establish that as I write and avoid confusion. 
> 
> I'll also be adding more warnings, characters, pairings, and stuff as I actually remember what all of them are...
> 
> Thanks.

“You were the one who said we wouldn’t get caught,” Stiles reminded Scott, shoving against the stream of students headed toward the buses and parking lot.

“Yeah but I didn’t think Harris would be spending his lunch hour patrolling the exits for underclassmen trying to leave campus for lunch,” Scott replied. “How can anyone sit in the cafeteria when it’s so nice out?”

“I’m not sure but it wouldn’t surprise me if Harris hates sunshine and fresh air. God damn vampire.”

They pushed opened the heavy oak door to the chemistry lab which was completely empty.

“Great. He’s not even here yet. We’ll be serving detention all night,” said Stiles, slipping into his usual seat.

Scott dropped into the stool next to him. “Maybe he forgot,” he said hopefully. “I say if Harris doesn’t show up in 15 minutes, we leave.”

Twelve excruciating minutes went by and as the second hand of the clock ticked forward, their anticipation grew. Footsteps rapidly tramped down the now silent hall and stopped outside the chemistry lab. Scott and Stiles exchanged disappointed looks. The door slowly opened, squeaking on its hinges.

“Oh, it’s just you,” said Scott, relieved. “We thought you were Harris. What are you doing here?”

Isaac Lahey glanced at the pair before averting his gaze to the floor and shuffling into the lab. “Same reason as you, I guess,” he mumbled and sat at the table in front of Scott and Stiles.

“So you got caught trying to eat lunch off campus too, huh?” asked Stiles.

“No,” said Isaac, turning slightly. “I was late to class.”

“And he gave you detention for that? God, he’s such a-oh hey, Mr. Harris,” Stiles recovered awkwardly as the chemistry teacher finally walked in.

If Mr. Harris heard Stiles, he gave no such indication. “I have a staff meeting right now. Under no circumstances are you allowed to leave this room before 4:30.”

Stile’s hand shot into the air.

“What is it, Stilinski?” Mr. Harris asked impatiently.

“Sir, what if we have to go to the bathroom?”

“Hold it,” he answered, already walking out. He let the door slam behind him.

Scott sighed. “Coach is going to kill us for missing practice.”

“Somehow, I really doubt he’s going to notice if the two of us aren’t there,” said Stiles, clapping him on the shoulder.

Ten minutes passed with nothing but the sound of Isaac’s pencil scratching paper, Stiles rubbing his highlighter furiously into his economics book, and the clicking of the keys on Scott’s phone as he lost game after game of Bubble Blaster.

“This game is rigged,” Scott sighed, setting his phone down.

“Dude, I told you not to panic and start shooting bubbles at random,” Stiles told him with the highlighter cap between his teeth. “Bubble Blaster is a complex game of strategic targeting that requires anticipating three moves ahead of your opponent. It’s like chess but less boring and more cathartic. While your right eye is spotting patterns, your left eye…”

But Scott had stopped listening. Stile’s lecture was overlapped with a quiet but persistent drumming. The same four set of beats over and over again. “Do you guys hear that?”

Isaac stood up. His head swiveled as he tried to find the source. “Where is that noise coming from?” he asked quietly.

“So you hear it too?”

“It’s probably just someone’s ringtone,” said Stiles but he laid his highlighter between the open pages of his text book. The drumming grew louder, loud enough to direct their attention towards the chemical supply closet.

“There could be someone trapped in there,” said Scott, pushing past Stiles and then Isaac, but the closet door opened easily and there was nobody inside. All he saw where racks of lab coats and bottles of things he knew he shouldn’t touch.

“Hey Scott, come on. Harris has a sixth sense for when we’re doing something we’re not supposed to be doing and I’m pretty sure raiding the chem closet is one of them,” said Stiles, not even bothering to conceal his exasperation.

“McCall, maybe you should just leave it alone,” Isaac added nervously.

Scott ignored both of them. He crouched and opened the lower cabinets. He dug through dusty old lab manuals until his fingers brushed the hard edge of a wooden box.

The drumming stopped.

Grunting, he tugged the box from between wrinkled manuals. “Stiles, come take a look,” he said, eagerly bringing it out of the closet and setting it on their table.

Isaac quietly closed the closet and retook his seat, keeping his back to them.

The box was made of dark, heavy wood. An image of a forest was carved into the front with the word ‘Jumanji’ in raised letters across the tree trunks. The box opened from the center and Scott pulled back the two halves to reveal a board game. “Oh, wow. Cool,” Scott said earnestly. He turned the box so that he could read the instructions printed on the side. “Jumanji. A game for those who seek to find a way to leave their world behind. You roll the dice to move your token. Doubles gets another turn. The first player to reach the end wins. You want to play?”

“We’re in detention, not Chuck-E-Cheese,” Stiles reminded him. “Now put that thing away before Harris comes back.”

“He’s in a staff meeting and he won’t be back until 4:30.” Scott glanced up at the clock. “That still gives us an hour to play. Just one quick game.” He began setting the tokens on the board: figurines of a bear, a deer, and something that looked like a badger. He set them on the three unoccupied corners, each with a twisted, segmented path that led to a dark, glass circle in the middle.

“It looks like someones been playing,” Stiles observed.

One of the tokens had already moved three spaces from its starting point. The wolf.

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” said Scott, pinching the wolf and pulling. He frowned. “It’s stuck.”

“You’re probably just really weak,” said Stiles. He wrapped the entire palm of his hand around the token. “Or maybe it’s super, super glued on,” he corrected after his own attempts to remove the wolf proved futile.

“Whatever, just leave it. I’ll go first.” Scott picked up the pair of dice and dropped them on the board. Both of them landed with two dots facing the ceiling. “Four. Lame.” He reached out his hand to move his token, the bear, but quickly withdrew his hand. “Holy crap…Stiles! Look.”

The carved bear slid four squares, leaving a single clean trail through the dusty board. “It must have some kind of sensor,” said Scott, rubbing his eyes. “Or maybe the die are weighted so that when they’re dropped, the game knows how many points you got.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t really explain how it moved by itself,” Stiles argued. He looked down in time to see words form in the center glass.

 

 

_Clouds on the ground make it hard to see_

_So beware of anything that is hungry_

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Scott asked. “Clouds on the ground? You mean like – ”

“Fog,” Stiles finished. He stared over his friend’s shoulder in mild alarm.

Scott turned. A blanket of mist obscured the school yard and it seemed to get thicker by the second.

“Put the game away,” Stiles ordered.

“It’s probably just a coincidence.” Scott shrugged. “It’s not that weird to get fog this time of year.”

“Yeah, it is when it was totally nice out a few seconds ago,” said Stiles. “Damn it Scott, haven’t you read Harry Potter? Never trust anything that thinks for itself unless you can see where it keeps its brain!”

“The game is not thinking for itself. It’s just a coincidence. And Harry Potter isn’t real life.”

“It could be! And we’d never know because we’re a couple of Muggles!”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t play then. Isaac!”

Isaac turned around with an irritated expression. “What?”

“Catch!” Scott lifted his arm to throw the die and Isaac nearly fell off his chair while trying to block his face and back away at the same time. “Sorry,” Scott apologized, seeing the fear in the other boy’s eyes. “I’ll underhand it.” He gently tossed the two dice.

Isaac deftly caught them with one hand. His face was pale except for the maddening blush of his cheeks. He eyed the die warily before standing up to return them. “I’m not really in the mood to play,” he said, letting the ivory cubes fall from his hand. He moved to return to his seat but a faint scratching sound made him stop.

The deer had moved five squares. He looked at the die he dropped. A four and a one. The three of them leaned towards the center of the game as new words appeared.

 

 

_Two sets of claws are better than one_

_To avoid a grisly death, you better run._

 

“Who the hell wrote these?” Stiles complained. “They’re terrible!”

Somewhere, a door opened and a clamor of voices filled the hall.

“The meeting must have ended early,” said Scott, panicked.

“Quick! Hurry! Put it away!” said Stiles.

He and Scott scrambled to close the game while Isaac went back to his seat, pretending to study.

“Just-just put it…put it in your backpack!” Stiles hissed. The voices moved closer to the chemistry lab. “Hurry up!”

“I’m trying!” Scott unzipped his backpack with trembling hands, knocking his lacrosse stick to the floor in the process. He shoved the game inside and quickly pulled the zipper to the other end of the opening, just as the door opened.

“Oh, thank god,” said Stiles, collapsing on the table. “We thought it was Harris. Again.”

“Hey guys,” said Allison, stepping into the room with Lydia Martin. “We thought we heard voices in here.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re just…” Stiles trailed off. “So what are you guys still doing here?”

“We just finished a meeting about the Spring Fling event the school is having. You guys are coming right? I know the tickets cost money but it’s for charity.”

“Definitely,” Scott said quickly. “Totally, of course. Charity is awesome. Thanks for doing that.”

“Great.” Allison smiled. “I hope to see you there.”

Lydia, who had been silent up until that point, suddenly spoke. “Aren’t you boys on the lacrosse team?”

“We sure are,” Scott answered proudly.

“Uh huh. Then aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Or are you not important enough to have Coach get you out of detention?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘important,’” said Stiles, avoiding a direct answer.

“So, what are you guys up to later?” asked Scott. He was eager to change the topic. He tried to focus his gaze away from Allison but found himself drawn back to her, as if asking her specifically. “There’s a new restaurant – ”

“Actually, we already have plans,” Lydia interrupted.

“Oh,” said Scott. He hid his disappointment behind an understanding smile.

“We’re going to the Beacon Hill Preserve, the old Hale House,” Allison explained.

Stiles wrinkled his brow. “Why would you go there?”

“Because Jackson is an idiot who will always go too far to make a point,” said Lydia, barely able to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“It’s supposedly haunted by all the members of the Hale family that died when the house caught on fire a few years back,” said Allison. “Danny told Jackson that nobody could stay in that house past 10 PM and Jackson took it as a challenge. You know how, um, competitive he can be.”

Jackson was, besides Lydia’s boyfriend, captain of the Lacross team so Stiles and Scott knew all too well.

“Let’s go,” said Lydia, pulling on Allison’s arm. “I don’t want to be here when Harris gets back.”

“See you guys tomorrow,” said Allison, allowing herself to be dragged out by the tiny redhead. “And don’t forget to buy tickets to Spring Fling!”

The door had barely closed before Stiles turned to Scott. “Somebody has a crush on the principal’s granddaughter,” he teased.

“Shut up,” Scott retorted but he couldn’t help smiling. “I mean, do you blame me?”

“I’m more of a Lydia Martin guy myself but yeah, she’s not bad.” Stiles shook his head. “Still can’t believe she’s related to Principal Argent, that old wind-bag.”

“I don’t know. He looks kind of strong for his age. He could probably beat you up if he wanted to.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

Mr. Harris walked in. The expression on his face was one of extreme irritation, nearly homicidal. “Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall, Mr. Lahey.” He sighed. “Against my own recommendation, the school has decided to have all remaining students vacate the school as soon as possible, due to the fog, so you may leave now.”

The boys practically jumped out of their seats and packed their belongings. They didn’t want to be around in case Mr. Harris changed his mind.

“Just one more thing,” He added. “You will finish the remaining 45 minutes of your detention tomorrow after school.” Stiles made an unpleasant noise in his throat that Mr. Harris decided to ignore. The chemistry teacher grinned smugly. “Have a good night.”

*

The fog had looked much thicker from the classroom but that wasn’t saying much. Visibility was still hardly more than five feet in any direction. Isaac helplessly wandered in what he hoped was the right direction. He repeatedly looked over his shoulders, paranoid that something could jump out of the mist. Or that a car would not be able to see him in time to stop.

If Isaac had been less jittery, he would have been paying attention enough to avoid running into someone. He reeled back and started to apologize. “Excuse me, I’m so sor…” The words faded and he could only gape at the stranger in front of him.

His hair and beard were jet black and long as well as unkempt. He wore a fitted gray t-shirt that was torn in many places and tattered dark jeans and no shoes. The hands that grabbed the front of Isaac’s shirt were caked in dirt and when he spoke, his voice sounded more like a growl than actual human speech. “Where am I?”


End file.
